


Buscarron's Box

by Xhaira



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, I decided to turn Buscarron into a dad bc I can, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xhaira/pseuds/Xhaira
Summary: After laying down his lance and leaving his post as a Wailer, Buscarron opens his own tavern, fulfilling a dream he had once not dared to chase after.And then I turn him into a dad in a single afternoon of hyperfixation after going to his gamer escape profile.
Relationships: Buscarron Stacks & Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Buscarron's Box

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this happened. I just wanted to make another Miqo and then boom, Buscarron's a dad. 
> 
> Very sparsely edited. I also have issues with units of measurement perception so just...pretend I used yalms correctly if I didn't. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“What in the seven blasted hells is going on!?”

Buscarron scowled down at his supply. It had only been 9 months since he opened his alehouse, permanently laying down his lance and leaving the Wailers behind. While nearly everything was running smoothly and he had regular customers, something (or someone) was already skimming his supply right under his nose. But he had no employees, and kept the door to the supply room locked during business hours. 

From what he could tell, the thief was only taking fruits. Mostly oranges and apples so far. _Likely some vermin from the woods. It had very well not be a damned goblin._

Glancing around the room, Buscarron took note of the single, small window at the top of the far wall -- and the unhooked latch that allowed it to be opened from the outside. He shook his head, angry with himself for not noticing it earlier. Moving a crate under the window, Buscarron climbed onto it and firmly latched the window shut. At least now maybe his fruits would stop going missing. 

As he jumped down from the crate and made to exit the room, Buscarron heard a very slight shift from behind another set of crates in the far corner. _It seems as though my thief has not yet left for today._

He moved slowly, reaching for the spare lance he kept on the wall. He may have retired his lance from the Wailers, but he was not foolish enough to not have a spare weapon in every room of the tavern. He approached the corner, angling his lance just in case the vermin jumped out at him. But as he finally glanced over the shortest crate to where his thief was hiding, he wasn’t met with a hissing rat or goblin. Wide, golden eyes peered up at him, and a soft gasp was the only warning he got before the thief leapt past him and towards the open supply room door. 

Buscarron shook off his initial shock of finding the tiny Miqo’te and turned to chase after her. “Oi! Wait, lass!”

The child didn’t stop, scurrying her way up and over the tavern counter. By the time Buscarron managed to get into the tavern proper she was already yanking the door open and running out into the trees behind the tavern. Buscarron watched the line of trees, silently cursing himself for not catching her. He sighed. There was nothing to be done about it now.

* * *

It was a few days before Buscarron saw signs of the Miqo’te child still being in the area. Or at least, as close to a sign as he could tell. 

He’d been stacking empty crates and boxes on the side porch for later use since his storage room was becoming somewhat unmanageable. As he was bringing out the last few he noticed that one of the medium sized boxes was missing. Buscarron frowned, knowing that if she was the one who took the box, it meant she was watching the tavern (and him), and she was living in the dangerous forest -- very likely alone. 

He shook his head. “Keep to your own business, Buscarron.” He muttered to himself. “You’ve got your own troubles and a tavern to run.” And now, she had some shelter. It was no longer his problem as long as she didn’t steal anything else. 

But as he lay in bed after the tavern had been closed and cleaned, listening as the elements began to thrash the area with a furious storm, Buscarron couldn’t help but think of those terrified, golden eyes, and that missing box. It hadn’t been in the best shape even before he’d unpacked his goods out of it; it would do no good in a storm like this. 

“Gods be damned!” Buscarron pushed his bedsheets back and growled as he dressed himself in some leathers that could stand the elements. He stopped in his washroom briefly to grab towels just in case he found her. Grabbing his lance, he stalked out of his quarters and into the tavern, setting the stack of towels on the bar before huffing a frustrated sigh and leaving to find the child. 

“I won’t go more than 20, maybe 30 yalms out from the tavern. Then I’ll turn back.” He stepped through the treeline, squinting with his one good eye to try and spot signs of a soggy, brown box anywhere. The wind had picked up even more, and the rain wasn’t letting up even for a moment, so there was very little to see. 

He got about 10 yalms into the forest when lightning struck a nearby tree, causing one of the large branches to crash to the ground. Buscarron jumped back from the branch and turned around to head back to the tavern. But even over the howling of the wind he heard the crying. Turning towards the debris, Buscarron made his way to the nearby cluster of bushes directly behind the branch. There, hidden remarkably well in the middle of the bushes, was the box. It was soaked and nearly flattened from the pounding rain. The child’s body was mostly covered by the soggy material, but it hadn’t provided the protection she had hoped for. 

Buscarron knelt down by the bushes. The weather had covered his scent and footsteps, so he managed to reach out to lift the edge of the poor shelter before she realized that she wasn’t alone. Those golden eyes peered up at him again, this time filled with terror and tears, but whatever strength and energy she’d had before was gone. She continued to lay there, shaking and curled up, but she didn’t run. Buscarron removed the box completely and reached out to take the child in his arms. She didn’t fight him, but she shook uncontrollably -- from fear or from the weather, he wasn’t sure -- as he carried her back to the tavern. 

He stepped back into the tavern, taking the time to lock the door behind him. It wouldn’t do to have her suddenly go running back out after he’d gone through the trouble of looking for her. Buscarron set the child on her feet near the bar counter and briefly looked over her. Her grape colored hair was cut short and shaggy, the longer pieces falling around her face haphazardly. Brown skin framed those golden eyes, but the hollowness of her cheeks bothered him. A tunic much too large for her clunge to her skin. No shoes. Buscarron bit his tongue when he saw the handprint shaped bruises around her throat and forearms, grabbing one of the towels he left on the bar and wrapping her in it. 

She jolted at the renewed contact, but otherwise did not stop him. “Here, take another towel and try to get yourself as dry as possible.” He handed her another towel, waiting until those tiny hands were securely holding the cloth before stepping back. He took a towel for himself and set about making it so that he at least wasn’t dripping onto the floor. He dropped the used towel to the ground to soak up the water. “I’ll see if I can find you something dry to wear. Don’t go anywhere.”

He quickly changed out of his own wet leathers before finding something for the child. She thankfully had not moved from her spot when he returned with one of his old tunics. “It’ll still be a bit too large for you but at least it’s not soaked through. I’ll turn around so you can change into it, alright?” Those large eyes watched him unblinkingly for several long seconds, but then a small nod had him facing the other direction. 

He waited until he no longer heard the shuffling of clothing before addressing her once more. “Got everything covered?” Another long pause followed his question, but then a tiny ‘yes’ eventually came from behind him. He turned and looked down at her. 

“I reckon you haven’t eaten much these days. If you’ll allow me to seat you at the bar, I can heat up some leftover stew for you to eat. How’s that sound?”

The girl’s already large eyes widened further, and her ears perked up. But just as quickly as it came, her expression turned to wariness. He held up his hands, palms out in front of him. “No payment or anything needed. It’s on the house this time.” 

She pursed her lips and continued to eye him, but then her stomach answered for her anyway. Hunger beating out the self-preservation skills she’d obviously obtained, the girl nodded. Buscarron stepped towards her slowly, gently lifting her to one of the stools. He walked around the counter and began preparing the stove to warm the stew. Even as he worked with his back to her, he felt those golden eyes following his every move. 

She sniffs delicately at the bowl when he finally deems it warm enough for her, and Buscarron cannot help but smile as her eyes become discs once more after tasting the stew. 

“Good? It’s called Antelope Stew; one of my specialties here at the tavern.” She nods her head and digs into the stew with enthusiasm. 

Buscarron waits until she finishes eating her stew -- after reminding her more than once to slow down lest she make herself sick -- before approaching her again. “The name’s Buscarron, by the way. What’s your name, lass?”

The child looked at him with sleepy eyes, a slight pause filling the space before she shrugged her shoulders. 

He lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t know? You didn’t have a name before you...before you started living out in the forest by yourself?” She shook her head. 

He placed a hand on his chin and sighed. “Well, if you think of a name you want to be called as let me know. It’ll make it easier once I get you to Gridania. But for now I’ll let you stay here, just so you’re not out there starving and a victim to the storm.” Her ears perked up at his words. “Don’t go thinking it’ll be a long while. A tavern is no place for a child. But you’ll be safe here until I can take the time to get you to the city.”

He takes her empty bowl and sets it into the sink. “I’ll need to find you a place to sleep though. Don’t really have much in the way of furnishings. Didn’t expect anyone else to stick around here after hours.”

When he turns back to her, she’s staring at the leftover boxes from his earlier attempts at organizing. “Those are just empty boxes, lass. Now let’s go try to get you settled in. You can-” He stops when he realizes she’s still staring at the boxes. “What is it, lass?”

She finally turns back to him. “Box.”

He blinks. “Yes, those are boxes. What about them?”

She points to herself. “Box.”

He’s confused for a moment before he understands. “You want to be called…Box?!” She nods her head vigorously, the most movement she’s made since he found her. He cards his hand through his hair and huffs out a small laugh. “A bit...uncommon, but if that’s what you’d like then there’s no reason for me to say otherwise. Can always change it later in the city, I suppose.”

Her bony shoulders drop in apparent relief, and Buscarron can do nothing but sigh. “Alright then ahh...Box. Let’s get some rest. You can take my bed for the night; I can sit up in the old chair well enough. We’ll figure something else out later. But remember, it’s temporary and I’ve not the time nor the desire to see after a child while running a tavern.”

* * *

_16 years later_

“Oi, Box!” Bascarron yelled into the back of the tavern. “Go ahead and start working on today’s special. If my ears are still serving me well, we can expect a host of Wailers to come through this evening after their shifts end. And I don’t want to hear their caterwauling about food if I can help it.” 

Light footsteps came from the supply closet, and a young Miqo’te woman stepped into the bar area carrying a basket of ingredients. “Aye, Papa! Wailer-sized servings of Antelope Stew coming right up!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what Buscarron's age was when he opened the tavern, but for the purposes of this story he is about 32.  
> Box is around 5 years old.
> 
> Eventually Box decides to take the surname 'Druthers' and switches between calling Buscarron by his name and Papa. No official adoption happened but it's well known that Buscarron took in and basically became a father to a Miqo'te child.


End file.
